


Second Genesis

by orphan_account



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Amputation, Anal Sex, Animal Play, Bulges and Nooks, Come Inflation, Dom/sub, Except without the play, F/F, F/M, Multi, Oral Sex, Other, Polyandry, Post-Sburb, Puppy Play, Scat, Spanking, Vaginal Sex, Xeno, Yes it is all cons
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-14
Updated: 2014-04-14
Packaged: 2018-01-19 08:34:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1462747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You’ve always known that the human species as a whole was odd, but then again odd is oftentimes good.</p>
<p>Ever since the onset of puberty you harboured a fantasy, one which back on Earth might have made you an outcast, a deviant – but this isn’t Earth, this is Earth 2.0, New and Improved with 15% more electrolytes than its leading competitor. This is the world that you helped create, helped shape, helped form what is considered to be normal – and boy did you take that opportunity by the horns. Now your fantasy is exquisite reality, and while you sometimes miss the freedoms a normal life offered you, you ultimately know that you made the right decision.</p>
<p>Your name is Rose Lalonde, and your mission in life is to be the best pet anyone could ask for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Second Genesis

Sleep is an odd condition. Nobody really knows why people need it, or why a lack of it can cause terminal loss of life – all you can do is analyse its after-effects and hope you can remember them later.

As your body and mind awaken from this night’s slumber, your senses return gradually. First is touch – you feel your naked body against the sheets, the blanket sagging over you, the hot and humid air it traps, and John’s flaccid penis draped against your cheek. You feel the heat of his nether regions near your head, and you nuzzle up to their warmth. Next comes sound – you hear his usual morning snore, which sounds like a mix between a very sick frog trying to croak out a mating call and a bulldozer’s engine just before the construction workers realize the need for an oil change. Shortly after, you start noticing smells and tastes – the inside of your mouth tastes as it always does, and John’s genitals smell as they always do. Finally, you open your eyes slightly, the world under the blanket softly illuminated by what little of the Sun’s light makes it through. You see his penis draped over your face, his unshaven pubic hair enveloping your nose, but mostly you hear that terrible snore, the kind of snore that’s gotten you both kicked out of hotels many times before. You need to do something about it, to save your eardrums from further trauma. Well, since you’re already down here...

Your tongue exits your mouth and roams around his dick, feeling its contours move and oscillate with his pulse. You probe it, prod it with your tongue, and it very quickly fills with his blood. You feel his vein curving around the right edge, the little bulbs in the shadow of his head, and you taste a night’s worth of sweat build-up, giving the whole package a salty taste. You can also taste his newly-excreted pre-cum on his tip, which you promptly lick off and take inside you. The snoring’s stopped now, replaced by a periodic groaning noise; you could call mission accomplished and back off now, but he’s obviously not fully awake yet, so it would do no good. Besides, you’ve gotten a taste of his seed, and you want more. You reign your tongue in and wrap your lips around his head – your tongue gets to work on his glans, eliciting another groan from John. You smile, pushing your tongue down to bring his length further in and he’s definitely awake now – he’s got his hand in your hair, gently scratching your scalp. You pull him in more, lips passing over his main vein as you fight your reflex to gag. Finally you can take no more of him, lips coming up just short of his root with his tip almost against the back of your throat – damn your gag reflex - so you begin to move your head back slowly. John’s hand freezes up for a moment before petting you with renewed vigour as you take him back inwards, accelerating your movements. In, out, lick; in, out, lick. He moans, and that causes you to moan; the vibrations your moan causes in the back of your mouth increase the intensity of his pleasure, and you could stand for this feedback loop to keep going. He’s stopped stroking you now and has started moving your head for you, back and forth over his cock. You relax your neck muscles and let him do the job for you, let him use your mouth as a tool, a means to an end – an end that’s fast approaching. He screams out your name, releasing his seed directly into the back of your throat, seed which you stop briefly to enjoy the feel of before washing it down your gullet with some saliva. He releases your head slowly, gradually, as if he’d be happy to keep you there forever, but he does allow you to remove yourself from him. He lifts up the blanket to take a look at your body, and you look up at his face. A smile is plastered on it as his eyes roam across your exposed form before snapping back to and lingering on your eyes. He moves his hand back behind your head and scratches you behind the ears, a gesture that doesn’t miss your notice. You close your eyes and lean into his fingers, closing off the world until it’s only you, him and his hand doing those lovely, lovey scratches.  
“Deepest you’ve got so far,” he compliments you, impressed. “Good pet - best friend.” You smile at that, an act which your younger self may have questioned, but your present self knows is 100% justified.

Your name is Rose Lalonde, and in this moment you truly believe that nobody else in the universe is as happy as you are.

John swings his legs off the side of the bed, rubbing his eyes before getting up. You take a good look at his rear end while you have the chance, because soon he’s turning it out and away from your view as he makes his way over to the cupboard to retrieve some clothing. While he puts his dressing gown on, you crawl to the edge of the bed and jump off, breaking the fall on what used to be your hands, with the stumps at the end of your things following down soon after, completing the descent. You’re still not quite used to the feeling even after all these months, but the concept is easy enough that you don’t grumble about it.

You’ve always known that the human species as a whole was odd, but then again odd is oftentimes good.

After the game you and the others, including all the trolls, your alpha-verse guardians and a cherub Roxy calls Calliope, found themselves in what, on reflection, basically amounted to an overly-elaborate control panel for the universe you were to create.  You changed many things – you imported Earth and Alternia, putting them in a binary planet situation where they orbited around a common centre of mass, and sent that centre of mass in a near-perfect circle around the sun. You brought in your respective species, humans and trolls (Calliope insisted on her species being left behind), as well as the individuals you knew. John and Jane put in their father, for instance. The trolls drastically altered their species minds, bringing them more in line with humanity’s – no more galactic conquest or desire for it, no more culling, no more hemospectral discrimination or the spectrum’s effects on lifespan. You advanced the space program to the point where travel between the two planets would be as commonplace as air travel was in the old world. These were all pretty standard changes, ones that any group of kids-come-gods would consider doing. What wasn’t so standard were some of the ideas that were in your head, ideas that in the old world would have been considered deviant at the least and an indicator of insanity at the worst.  One particular idea gnawed at you for a while as you and your companions made your adjustments. You wanted to do it, but you didn’t know how the others would react – after all this time and all you’d been through, you didn’t want to lose them. You didn’t, and still don’t, think you could handle it if they left your life. You’d stepped back from the controls while apprehension and careful consideration plagued you. John looked behind him and saw the unease you didn’t even know was on your face – he always did have remarkable aptitude at picking up that sort of thing.  
He’d asked you what was wrong. You’d said you didn’t want to tell him, that you were still working it out. He’d lightly punched your arm and said “Come on.”  
“No,” you’d said, but you felt your resolve cracking. He’d tilted his head in concern and was about to pull away when you’d opened up.  
You’d told him about your fantasies, fantasies that all of a sudden could be realized. You’d dreamt of being a pet, an animal in human form. You’d dreamt of having no control over your life, placing it all with your master. You’d dreamt of a world where this could go further than mere play, where it became your entire existence – where your lower legs and fingers could be amputated without hazard, and you would be completely legally owned by your master, your rights as a human being stripped, replaced by those no different from a dog’s. You’d dreamt that it wouldn’t be just you and your master – you’d dreamt of a world where sapient beings as pets was universally accepted  (as long as the pet gave their consent prior to the conversion procedure), where your master could take you out for a walk without getting weird looks or visits from the police. You’d dreamt of a world where many others took the same path as you, choosing to become the pets of others. But most of all, you’d dreamt of a world where you could do all of that with John.

Your ramblings had drawn the attention of the others in the meantime, who’d stopped what they were doing and listened to you. Only then, with your long-winded explanation over, did you notice them, and you began to regret your outburst. You’d held your head in your hands and muttered words of regret, apologizing for making everyone uncomfortable. John was just about to reach for you when Kanaya spoke up:

“Oh thank god, I’m not the only one.”

Your head shot up towards her and your eyes studied her face. To your great surprise you failed to find any trace of sarcastic intent on her anywhere.  
“Really?” you’d asked her.  
“Really. I’ve had those exact dreams for a while now. I thought I was going insane.”  
You’d laughed. “Well, that’s still up for debate.”  
“I don’t think you’re insane,” John had said suddenly, butting his way into the conversation, “either of you. And it does makes sense to bring this up here, at a time when we can change things, make fantasies reality.”  
“So…” you’d trailed off, unsure if you were ready to push the issue.  
“So I don’t have any objections to it. After all, we’re the ones who say what’s within the realms of society’s norms now, aren’t we?”  
“No objections?” you’d asked, bewildered. “Not even to-”  
“Especially not to doing it all with me.”  
You’d hugged him tightly, bringing him close, and you’d cried tears of repressed joy. He’d patted your back, let you get it all out. “Ssh,” he’d said to you, and at that instant you’d remembered that there were other people besides you two in that control room. You’d quickly stifled your tears and broke off the hug, embarrassed.  
“I’m not doing this unless everyone’s okay with it,” you’d said, “so hands up if it’s fine with you.”  
Not one hand was left down, although not all for the same reason. Most were stoic and determined, like Dave and Nepeta, while others seemed to have mixed views. Vriska had grinned widely, most likely thrilled at the thought of owning another person, just like Mindfang did with the Dolorosa. Equius’ hand kept twitching, indicating he’d wanted to lower it, but you suspected his moirail’s enthusiasm suppressed his urge quite a lot. Jade’s expression was somewhat confused, probably due to her upbringing – she probably didn’t know and didn’t care about the taboos contained in your proposal. The rest of the trolls just had their hands up in agreement, presumably as this would add more personal freedom that was so sorely lacking in the old Alternia. Roxy’s hand had been straight up in the air, enthusiastic, whereas Jane, Jake and Dirk had simply show standard agreement.  
“Okay then!” John said as he clapped his hands together. “First major change to society!”

Now that you’d got your fantasies out there and accepted, others spoke up about more non-standard proposals as well. Most of them were consented to, apart from one proposal from Vriska which you frequently try to purge from your memory. Once you were all done and ready to enter, society looked drastically different from the old world – something that you were, and still are, immensely glad you had the chance to kick start. As you stood before the Doorway to Infinity, you looked over to John, he looked over to you, and no words needed to be said – you both knew you loved each other. You kissed him and stepped through the Doorway into the new universe.

After you entered and got settled in, you insisted on John taking you to a Sapient Pet Veterinary and Amputation Clinic , a business that you had invented mere days beforehand.  
“You’re absolutely sure about this?” he’d asked, dead serious. “I saw the kind of stuff you inputted. This is permanent, you know.”  
You’d exhaled hard. “I know. I want to do it. I wouldn’t have put it in if I didn’t.”  
“Even the stuff about legal ownership?”  
“Especially that stuff.”  
That morning you woke up, and you became acutely aware of all the benign, everyday things you soon wouldn’t be able to perform again. Simple things like having served your own food, being able to wash your own body, and to hold John’s hand, all actions that would be locked out, forever out of your reach. The thought of it still excites you. You lost your virginity that morning.

On the way to the clinic, he’d laid down the ground rules you were to abide after the procedure. There was to be no use of language unless he gave you the command to speak, and you were not to use the toilet but instead do your business out in the yard - and not inside (he was very insistent on that point). Everything else would be sorted out at a later date if and when it became an issue.

Once you’d arrived, you’d both filled out the relevant forms and then the process began. The surgeon had lead you into the operating theatre, a sparse room that consisted only of a metal table for the amputee to lie on and a bench for the surgical instruments. It very much resembled a vet’s office, which you suppose was appropriate. You were told to strip and lie down on the table; you shed your clothing for the final time – you were wearing a dress you chose specifically for its ease of removal - then took off your plain-white bra and panties, baring yourself. You felt the cool air against your wet snatch, the weight of your breasts pulling downwards, and exhaled in happiness. _This was it,_ you’d thought. _This is the moment I’ve fantasised about for years._ You could scarcely believe it’d actually been happening. You’d forced yourself to concentrate and stepped towards the table, intensely aware that this was the last time you’d ever walk on two legs, and the thought had only made you more excited. You laid down, back pressed against the icy surface; and you’d felt at peace, one in mind and body. The surgeon gave you an injection of painkillers, much stronger than those from the old world: you’d given the world a total painkiller, partially because you wished to help humanity as a whole, but mainly because you’d wanted to be awake and lucid for this moment. The surgeon picked up a scalpel and started with your left hand; she’d removed your fingers one by one, took away your ability to hold objects; she’d plugged up the wounds as she went, stopped any bleeding before it really began. She moved on to your right hand and did the same, and in less than five minutes your thumbs and fingers, the appendages that’d made you more human than nearly anything else, were gone. You’d raised your hand – paw, now – and stared at it as the surgeon blocked up the last of the bleeding. You’d tried moving your fingers, tried to get any kind of response, but only the muscles in your hand and arm had tightened. There weren’t even any knuckles left to flex. You truly were helpless then, at John’s mercy, and you still love it. The surgeon retrieved a large blade that could’ve been one meter long from a nearby bench and moved down to your legs – you’d shivered with anticipation as she’d lined it up for just above your knees, as you’d designed. The blade was big enough to do both legs in one go, so you’d pulled them together and tried to hold them in place. After what felt like an eternity the blade had come down, and everything below your thighs was gone, no longer a part of you. As the surgeon plugged the wounds and stopped the bleeding, you fell into a state of total bliss, eyes having glazed over and a wide smile plastered on your face. You’d looked up at John and he’d smiled back, cupped the back of your head, and you knew that you’d made the right decision.

It took a few more hours to finish – the surgeon smoothed out your thigh-stumps, accelerated the skin’s regrowth and aligned your partially-severed muscles in such a way so that when they regrew later they did so in a proper way for your new form – but the time felt like nothing to you. Your body felt weightless, like you were floating on a cloud and weren’t laid out on a cold metal table. You’d known it wasn’t the drugs – you’d designed them, after all – but you’d had a hard time believing that the feelings you experienced could’ve been caused by anything else but them.

John took you out of the operating theatre after the final polishes were made to your form (even you’re impressed at the cellular regrowth technology humanity now has thanks to Jade), your body slung over his shoulder like you were just a heavy object, and your severed calves underarm. He didn’t head straight home - he’d bought a few essentials first. He’d gotten you a doggy bed - a soft, woollen thing that would be your place of rest – a bowl for you to eat out of and, most importantly, a collar and a leash. He’d slipped the collar around your neck and fastened it shut, and you’d never felt more turned on in your life. The collar was made out of leather and it fitted snugly around you, like your neck was created to wear it. He’d clipped the lead on, which had made you even more aroused, and looked down at you. He’d looked unsure of himself, of what to do, so you’d nudged him in the right direction – literally. You’d pushed him towards the door and you took your first steps as a pet. It’s not that different from crawling – it uses all the same muscles – so the transition to quadrupedal motion was one you made with ease. You couldn’t go much faster than crawling speed, but you knew that would change with time. John had walked out the door and along the pavement slowly, and you’d loved him for that. You’d loved him for his understanding, and most of all his compliance in this fantasy of yours. He would be your life from now on, and you couldn’t think of a better person to be your master than him. As you’d walked, the tags on your collar you hadn’t yet noticed jiggled around, clanked together, and you looked down at them. They said “Rose Lalonde” and “Telephone: +01 61 9414 6444” respectively – just another way to identify you as his. You were wet with need, and when you and John got home you immediately stuck your ass up in the air – he got the message.

John dropped to his knees, undid his pants, grabbed both your cheeks, pulled them apart and slipped his dick into your pussy. Your walls latched onto him, pulled him further inwards, and then he’d started pumping. You’d felt the head of his penis acutely, your walls wrapped around it as he’d moved in and out of you. His balls had slapped against your clit, had gave you bursts of pleasure, but it hadn’t been enough. You’d tried to grab it, your new lack of fingers forgotten in the heat of the moment, but all you’d managed is pathetic pawing. John had noticed your struggles and reached down, took your bulb in his fingers and rubbed it in time with his thrusts. You’d started moaning hard and loud with each cycle, building up closer and closer to your climax, but then he’d stopped – stopped the moving and the thrusting. The pleasure had died down and you’d groaned; he’d remained motionless inside you, and while you’d enjoyed the sensation of being filled, you’d craved for more. You needed more.  
“John...” you’d said with impatience, and then he’d smacked your thigh, hard. You’d yelped out, shocked, having forgotten the rules in your moment of frustration.  
“Did I say ‘speak’?” he’d said.  
You shook your head. He’d smacked you again, this time on your right cheek. “Never speak unless I tell you to, are we clear?” You’d nodded vigorously. “Good,” he’d said, then he’d started moving again.  
 _He really did enjoy this straight from Day One,_ you’d later reflect. _Had he wanted this just as long as you had?_  
He’d grabbed your clit again and rubbed harder and faster than before, and at the same time as he’d sped up his thrusts. Soon you were whining again, this time in pleasure; you’d pawed at the ground, tried to grab onto something, anything – but you weren’t able to, and you never would be again. That thought had sent your orgasm rolling through you – you’d moaned loud, your walls clenched around John’s length, and that’d sent him over as well. Your world had been a white-hot mess of pleasure as he’d spilled himself into you. About 10 seconds later your orgasm died off, and it’d left you happy and content in the afterglow. You’d slumped to the ground, exhausted from both the fuck and the effort of keeping yourself presented for him afterwards. While he’d went off to the kitchen to make a sandwich, you’d remained on the wooden floor by the front door and fell asleep.

You come back to the present when a lash of pain shoots through your labia, making you yelp – while you were remembering, you’d started rubbing your pussy against a wall, trying to get yourself off. You probably have a splinter now – this is exactly the reason John had bought you the masturbation post that you always forget actually exists. John pokes his head around the corner, concerned by the noise, but when he sees what you were doing he just scrunches his eyes shut and puts two fingers to his forehead.  
“Not again,” he says. “How many times have I told you we have termites?” He sighs and shakes his head. “Come here.”  
You trot over to him and roll over – he reaches over you, down towards your lower lips and feels around, searching for a while before he passes over the offending splinter. You whine again, the pain returning as he passes over it, and he stops, feeling that area more closely. You wail and he squeezes his eyes shut again – he never liked that sound, the sound you make when you’re in true, unplanned agony – but it looks like he’s finally found it. He folds your lips open, exposing more of the splinter; then he moves in with his other hand, capturing the offending wood chipping between the fingernails of his thumb and index finger, and then he yanks it out. With one last jolt of pain it’s free – he puts pressure on the wound it made to pre-emptively stop any bleeding, and you lick him to show your thanks, but his dressing gown gets in the way of your tongue.  
“Rose,” he complains, “now I’ll have to wash this gown! I only just washed it a day ago!”  
You smirk and lick it again; you can tell he’s not actually unhappy with you by the laughter he tries very hard to suppress - but glimmers of it still emerge from him. You keep licking, and finally he lets go and bursts out laughing. He reaches out to scratch your stomach, and you laugh with him, high on his happiness. You love how happy you make him, both by your actions and just by you being there, being a constant in his life, and he loves how happy he makes you. If ectobiological shenanigans hadn’t already confirmed it long ago, you’d hazard a guess that you two were made for each other. The laughter subsides and he just stands there, leaning over you, scratching your stomach with a smile on his face. You close your eyes and return the smile – you know you already thought it today, and you’re loathe to repeat yourself, but you do really believe you’re the happiest person in the universe.

With a final scratch John stands up, still grinning.  
“God damn it I did it again,” he says as you right yourself – “I gave you encouragement after you humped that wall.” He looks at you and shrugs. “I’m never going to learn, am I?”  
You just smile and stare.  
“You’re a little shit, you know that?”  
You nod.  
He rolls his eyes and shakes his head. “And I love you for it.”  
You walk up to his legs and rub your head against them, returning the sentiment in one of the only ways you know how.  
“Go on,” he says, “we both need to eat sometime today.” Regretfully you pull off. “Good girl,” he says.

You turn and make your way to your food bowl, embroiled with your name in ironically-fancy handwriting (obviously Dave’s doing). You wait for a minute, sitting on your laurel, and eventually he tips a can of spam into your bowl. You look up at him, unimpressed. “Yes, I forgot to go to the store. Again. Yes, I’ll try harder to remember next time.” You both know he won’t, but you don’t press the issue – you’re too hungry. You lower your head and dig in, chewing up pieces of low-quality meat and grimacing at the taste. You press on, however, driven by your stomach just as John was after that first fuck with you on all fours. No, you shut that train of thought down immediately, you’re trying to eat here.

John sits down at the table next to your bowl and pets you with his foot while he chews more loudly than necessary. _Probably Crunchy Nut again_ , you think. He loves that stuff.  
“So Vriska and Kanaya are coming over today,” John says between mouthfuls. You swallow and look up. You could’ve sworn that was tomorrow. You prod John’s leg with a paw to get his attention, and when he looks down you open and close your mouth a few times while tilting your head questioningly. “Yes, you can speak Rose,” he says, going back to his bowl to get another spoonful ready, “like you always can when we’re talking about guests.”  
“I just didn’t particularly feel like a spanking right now if I was wrong,” you say, voice a bit raspy from misuse.  
“Yeah, didn’t think you would. You looked too happy back there.”  
“Like always, I am in awe of your deductive skills Mister Holmes.”  
“I try.”  
“So that visit’s today, is it?”  
“Yep, which means you’ll need to be cleaned up.”  
You sigh. “Do you have to?”  
“Rose, your face smells like my crotch, of course you’ll need a wash.”  
“Why does that matter? It’ll just smell like someone else’s by the end of the day.”  
“If there’s one thing my father taught me, it’s that presentation is everything.”  
“I highly doubt Vriska will care, you know.”  
“You’d be surprised.” He gets up, having finished his meal, and walks over to the sink to wash up. “She’s got an unreal sense of smell.” He starts scrubbing the bowl and filling it with water. “I swear, one time I passed her on the way to meet Dave and she asked why I’d got cologne on. Rose, I’d applied that the day before and then had a shower!”  
“I don’t really see why you’re arguing this point, you know full well you could just force-wash me.”  
“Yeah, but I don’t particularly feel like dealing with a flailing pet right now.”  
“Fair enough.”  
He finishes up the dishes (even though there was only one dish and thus the plural is redundant) and looks down at you. “Okay Rose, quiet,” he commands. You shut your mouth obediently. “Good girl,” he says, and pats you on the head. “You ready for that bath?” You nod. There’s no point struggling, after all. He reaches down and picks you up by your armpits before turning you over and holding you like a dog, one arm circling your lower waist and one arm cradling just below your arms. It’s a bit awkward as he had to manoeuvre around your breasts and avoid crushing them, but he manages. He jostles you into a more comfortable position for him (your shoulder was digging into his upper arm) and then sets off for the bathroom. You feel secure in his arms, much like a baby is in their mother’s, and you rest your head against his arm. As he walks, you both pass your severed lower legs, taxidermied and mounted on the wall in a red, circular frame. After your fucking and his hunger being sated, he took them to a taxidermist before they started decaying (he wanted them as pristine as possible) and had them stuffed. They’ve been on that wall ever since, a constant reminder of your amputation. It’s very easy to forget you had lower legs and fingers, what with how long you’ve been a pet and how normally everyone treats it, but the sight of them still makes you excited, and the masturbation pole’s distance from them is one of the major reasons for its disuse.

John ascends a flight of stairs and pushes open the bathroom door with his shoulder. He locks it and sets you down in the tub, poised to react to any getaway attempt, but you’ve long since learnt that there is no point to such an escapade. Besides, you don’t actually want to leave – you used to do it just to be annoying. He reaches for your neck and undoes your collar, setting it aside. It’s amazing how naked the loss of just one thing can make you feel – even though it only covers up a small part of you, it still makes you feel safe and secure. Luckily for you John’s right there, stroking you, comforting you – he knows how uncomfortable the loss of your collar makes you. He turns the water on, hot but not too hot, and fills his hands with body-wash. You relax, collar left in the back of your mind, and let the water wash over you; let his hands rub in the soap over your arms, paws, breasts, belly, legs, stumps, butt and crotch. He lingers on your breasts and ass for a bit longer than he needs to, but that’s okay, because you’re enjoying his hands there, rubbing and kneading your flesh. He squeezes, holds, releases, and repeats – it feels like ecstasy. You still haven’t had release today, you remember. As he goes about the routine of cleaning you, you’re overwhelmed with feelings of contentedness. You love it when he rubs your whole body like this, how he treats you with such care and affection. As he moves you around to wash off the excess body-wash, you look up at him with happiness in your eyes and he grins at you. He reaches over and rubs shampoo into your hair, squelching it around until it penetrates all of your follicles, and then lightly pushes your head towards the stream of water. You comply and stick your head under it, rinsing it all off while trying to keep it out of your eyes. He then applies conditioner and does the same thing, rubbing it in and washing it off. He turns off the water, satisfied with your cleanliness, and goes to get a towel. You’re already missing the feel of his hands on your form, those lovely hands that washed you like you were the greatest thing they’d ever felt – actually, that might not be far from the truth. He returns with the towel and scrubs you dry, even spreading your legs to wipe in your ass-crack – he’s really being thorough – and then eventually picks you back up and crouches down to plant you on the floor. There’s still some moisture left on you, so you take the opportunity to shake yourself off and spray John with water. He shelters his face from the pelting, laughing all the while. You do love his more domineering moods, but nothing really compares to hearing that sweet, hearty laugh and knowing you caused it, that you’re the one making him so happy just by being yourself. You cannot resist the urge – you go up and embrace him between your arms, right in the middle of his waist, smiling into his belly. You feel his hand reach down to your back and stroke you, full-body, neck to tailbone. You make noises of contentedness, of unwavering love, and finally he embraces you back. Other pets and pet owners might look on this scene as odd, but you don’t care – this is between you and your master. You don’t need words; you both know what the other’s thinking just by being near them. You feel a connection with him, running deeper than words can accurately describe – you feel as one; one mind, one body, one soul; you sense his arms cradling you, but sometimes you swear you also sense you in his arms, your warm, soft and slightly damp skin plastered against him. Your rational mind knows it’s just an illusion, but your rational mind can go stuff itself; this sensation’s too perfect to just dismiss away. You both remain there for a long time, long enough for the water on you to have evaporated away, but eventually he breaks off. You keep your arms around him, hold him tightly; you don’t want this to end, not so soon.  
“Rose, remember the people coming over?” he says. “If we keep going like this we’re gonna miss the doorbell ringing.”  
You don’t move, staying clutched on.  
“Rose, get off,” he says, exasperated; “that’s an order.”  
You whine, but you do release him from your grip.  
“Good pet,” he says. He reaches over to where he left your collar and snaps it back on you, reminding you of your place. “Now go sit by the front door and wait.”

You trudge off and descend the stairs slowly, one paw after the other. Going down stairs feels wrong somehow – your centre of mass is too far forward, and it always feels like you could go tumbling at any moment. You’d imagines leaping up and down flights of stairs on all fours, just like dogs do, but you guess you can’t have everything. Instead you take stairs slowly, deliberately and only when you have to. The timber flooring doesn’t really help much either – you may have to ask John about carpeting.  You reach the bottom and feel much more at ease on the flat surface; you walk over towards the door and sit straight down onto your butt. You ready yourself for the long haul – you appreciate that John wants to make himself look presentable and in control of his animal, but by god is the wait boring. Multiple times now you’ve caught yourself falling asleep sitting up. The thing you don’t understand is why John feels the need to put you here now, when Vriska and Kanaya could arrive hours later, and why he doesn’t just order you to sit by the door just before he opens it in a hushed voice – you know for a fact that’s what everyone else does; the entire exercise is a [fraudent] one. Vriska doesn’t even bother with it – when you head over to her hive, Kanaya’s never by the door, she’s always curled up in her bed, lying on the floor or eating something. Vriska doesn’t need to display that she’s in control of Kanaya – the marks are proof enough.

Well here’s something to keep you occupied then - thinking about Kanaya. She’d had the operation the first day in the new universe, the first one of your group to have done so. When you first saw her leash being held by Vriska you’d initially thought it was some kind of mistake, a prank they’d pulled on you; but it was so very real. Kanaya hadn’t wanted a kind, caring master like you did – she’d wanted a rough, domineering one, one that would constantly remind her that she had no control - she was just a pet that her master could do what they wanted with. You’d later discover that she’d pined after Vriska in her younger years, which had gone some way to explain her choice, but you’d still found it quite odd indeed. Nevertheless, the two had made a good pairing – they’d clicked immediately. Kanaya had known that Vriska hadn’t actually want obedience, she wanted disobedience. She’d wanted the excuse to punish her, to pound her into the ground and drag her back up, only to push her right back down again. She’d wanted the type of pet that not only disobeyed, but enjoyed the wrath that came from it, and Kanaya had fit all those bills and then some. Their relationship isn’t kismessatic per se; it’s more like what you’d expect from a dominatrix and their subordinate. While one may be superior and lets the other know it, at no point is their passion for each other ever called into question. That last bit wasn’t always true, though. At the start Vriska hadn’t loved Kanaya, she’d just taken the opportunity to ride the mechanical bull of pet ownership when Kanaya had presented herself to her and asked her to be her master. Over time though their relationship developed to the point where Vriska would no longer blinked when she said “Yes, I love Kanaya.” Well she does blink, but only because she’s sick of people asking and just assumes everyone knows by now. She’ll usually follow it up with a barely-audible “And if you don’t shut up I’ll show you how devoted she is to me.” Then Kanaya bares her teeth and growls. Nobody really asks Vriska questions about their relationship anymore.  
The ground rules in the Serket hive are different from the ones imposed on you. Kanaya is never allowed to speak – she’s been [stoically] silent ever since her amputation. Not one word of coherent language has emerged from her mouth, and it probably never will again. Sometimes you get concerned and worry that she’s breaking under Vriska’s torment - either going insane or devolving into a true base animal – but from what you’re seen she’s the same troll you’ve always known, and you hope that never changes. Kanaya is Kanaya, and you’re sure John would have quite a few harsh words with Vriska if that ever threatened to become otherwise. Even though you now live separately and both taken masters, the passion you felt for each other ever since The Flight of the Meteor never died, never fizzled out. It doesn’t matter to either of you that you both have sexual relationships with others – both your masters, other pets and their masters in turn – polyandry came naturally to you and her, as it does with the majority of those who become pets. Really, it wasn’t much of a leap for her – if she could have up to five people in separate quadrants, why couldn’t she have three in the one? Or five? Or seven? The only barriers were those culturally imposed, and in a naturally pseudo-polyandrous society such as hers there were very little. For you, however, you’d had more cultural blocks to overcome. The idea of meeting The One has been ingrained in the minds of humans ever since the first romantic film hit the silver screen, and in those first few months you’d constantly had to remind yourself: “The desires I’m feeling are natural. It’s okay to love more than one person. There’s nothing wrong with me.” Eventually the sentence had become your own little private joke, like you’d been psychoanalysing yourself (which you had been), and that was the point when you’d known you no longer needed to repeat it.

You hear the three loud bangs on the door and snap out of your memories – they’ve arrived, and your master wants you presentable. You double-check your posture. Legs spread at a 50 degree angle – check. Cunt clearly visible – check. Shoulders pushed down – check. A well-curved spine – check. Everything comes up green, and Mission Control gives you the okay to launch. John appears from the top of the stairwell and you focus on staring straight at the entrance to your – his, abode. T-minus five: John reaches the stair’s terminator, now clad in proper clothes – a T-Shirt and some tracksuit pants. Four: He gets halfway to the door. Three: He stops and reaches for the handle. Two: He pushes the door forward, once again forgetting it’s a pull door. One: he pulls it in the right direction.  
You see Vriska in her standard getup: black shirt with the cerulean Scorpio symbol woven into it, open jacked encircling, and tight blue jeans on her lower half, with a handbag slung off her right shoulder - no surprises there - then you see her pet.

Lift off- lift off of the spacecraft Rose Lalonde in her quest to fuck the shit out of Miss Maryam.

She’s on the end of a lead, other end in Vriska’s left hand, and she’s on all fours just like you. She’s looking straight at you, knowing John’s routine by now, and she smirks when she sees you there. You do the same back, suppressing a cry as a shot of arousal emanates from your clitoris. _Wet once again_ , you think; _at least this time I’ll almost certainly get release_. She glances down to your slit, picks up on the shiver her sight causes and raises her eyebrows. You know she’s going to pounce on you as soon as she gets the chance, and this time you’ll be ready for her.  
John kisses Vriska on the cheek and makes small-talk in the meantime, which she clearly finds boring. “So you gonna get out of the doorway sometime in the next decade?” she says to him. He stammers a bit (she’s usually about 10% more patient) before stepping aside and letting them through. He closes the door behind them, tells you that you can stop sitting down, and Vriska let’s go of Kanaya’s lead. She doesn’t leap on you right away – she’s smarter than that. She’s waiting, circling and looking for an opportune moment to strike. You follow her movements, rotating your body to always face hers, presenting the smallest target possible. It's a game of wits, and one you’re determined to win. Your posterior runs into a table leg, and she thinks she has you – she sprints forwards and jumps, but you’re already executing your roll program, dodging her assault. You right yourself and immediately go for the counter-attack while she’s still pushing herself into a stable stance. You leap and land in a heap on top of her, squashing her and sending her limbs out from under her in a cross. She’s cold under you, like most trolls are, and her skin feels as heavenly to the touch as it always does – soft and so very fine. She concedes defeat by sighing and nodding; you thrust yourself back upright and she does the same after a few seconds. You lap at her cheek, re-affirming your affection for her, and she turns her head and licks you right back. The air feels cold on that patch of skin, her spit acting like sweat, a reminder that she licked you there, that she loves you. Vriska calls Kanaya’s name and she shoots her head up immediately – with a glance in your direction she heads off to find her master. You follow, getting an enviable view of her rear end moving back and forth with her motions. You spy the lash marks, showing where she’s been whipped and beaten recently, but it doesn’t really affect the overriding sentiment: _God damn does Kanaya have a nice ass_.

You both enter the kitchen – Kanaya sits below Vriska, her master demanding her attention with an order you can’t quite hear while you head for your water bowl in the alcove by the doorway, right next to the dog bed you usually sleep in. You don’t normally sleep with your master – last night you both just fell asleep midway through an intimate exercise – instead you rest here every night, just like an animal would. You stick your tongue out and lap the water up; slowly, bit by bit, you quench your thirst. In the beginning drinking was hard, slow and straining on your tongue, to the point where John had started running the tap in the bath, concerned that you’d hurt yourself – but you didn’t give up. You practiced, persisted, corralled your tongue into submission and now you can drink just like animals do, and almost as quickly. Your tongue’s newfound endurance is a massive boon, not only for drinking water but for drinking other, more intimate fluids. You know a number of people thankful for your tongue, and each one of them tastes different, unique in their own way. You enjoy sampling them like a connoisseur would sample fine wines, but does an aficionado of wines get to fuck their drink dispenser afterwards? No, and you hope it stays that way – you don’t want to imagine the reactions of the wine-makers when they find semen or genetic material in their vat. Actually, you would like to imagine it – they’d probably be confused at first, wondering why everyone was complaining of an odd taste, and when they eventually try their product for themselves they open up the vat to have a look, and find someone’s spunk sitting at the bottom, slowly dissolving into the wine. After they’d spent approximately an hour apologizing to everyone (and once the faint-of-heart among them finally stopped puking) they’d tip the vat out, get to work on a new one and file a complaint against the taster that came by once they looked at the CCTV images. The taster meanwhile, at this point so far away that nobody could hope to catch him, chuckles to himself at another job well done, for he isn’t actually a taster – he’s a private contractor specializing in sexual sabotage and okay you can’t keep up the veil of seriousness any longer: you burst out laughing - it’s just so ridiculous! A foot nudges you lightly, but you keep going, too amused at your own imagination.  
“Rose!” John yells out, and you snap out of it, clamping your mouth shut. “Bad pet!” You look up at him and put on your best puppy-dog face, eyes wide and gaze passing just by your brow, and you whimper. He’s not having any of it though, and he just looks at you more sternly. You break eye contact and back off, conceding to him.  
“Sorry about that,” he says to Vriska, embarrassed.  
“You need to be harsher with her, you know.”  
“I know I should, but she’s not usually like this, she doesn’t need punishment that much.”  
“John, if you look over his entire lifetime it can be argued that Hitler didn’t kill Jews that often!”  
“Vriska!”  
“What?”

You tune out of the conversation and walk off to where Kanaya’s since laid down: between the couch and the coffee table, sideways on a rug. You poke her stump with a paw – she raises her head and looks over to you.  
You tilt your head slightly. _You alright?  
_ She nods at you. _Yes I Am Fine  
_ You lick her thigh. _Good. Just making sure. Love you.  
_ She smiles. _Love You Too_  
You don’t really need language with Kanaya either: you both understand your respective gestures just fine.  
You squeeze between her and the table and lay yourself parallel to her, breasts pushed up against her back. You wrap an arm around her, both to embrace her and to sneak a feel of her bosom. You rub a circle on her right globe and she purrs contentedly. The vibrations feel superb against your breasts and re-ignite the fires in your crotch, your sexual organs once again begging for attention – but you’re too comfortable right here; rubbing Kanaya, feeling her purr against you, and just enjoying her presence too much to do anything about it; you really are throttled down for Max Q. She’s just so huggable - so [strokeable], supple and cool to the touch - that most of the time just holding her like this is better than relieving that itch in your nethers. Her bulky bosom feels beautiful in your paw, her abundant ass tremendous against your thighs, and her neck tastes like rapture to your tongue as you lick long, slow strokes up it. Cuddling with Kanaya is so sensual, so right that if you hadn’t gotten this whole pet thing implanted into this universe you’d have probably spent every single waking moment you physically could holding her, and to hell with the sex. Your masters sometimes do say otherwise, but not right now. Right now it’s you and her, plastered together between a couch and a coffee table with an unread copy of some horse breeding book that came with the house on it, and you feel blissful.  
“Look at them,” you hear Vriska say – “they look so peaceful together.”  
“Should we…” John begins.  
“No! No... leave them. They both look happy.”  
“Really? You want to leave them?”  
“Believe it or not John, I actually care for Kanaya – she’s not just a target for my whips.”  
“Okay, okay...”  
They walk back away towards the kitchen, leaving you two to your shared euphoria. You stroke, she purrs, and it’s a sound that could make even the Gods of the Furthest Ring feel a faint light of affection. You stand no chance against it.

Alas, it cannot last forever – after what feels like only a few seconds but could well have been an hour, Kanaya wriggles from your grasp. In retrospect, choosing to rub her breast was perhaps not the best decision, because now she’s ravenously horny and desperate to fuck. You get up and head to a more open area out in the yard, passing through the pet door John had installed. The flap scrapes along your back and tickles you, but you barely notice it, your mind pre-occupied with the anticipation of what’s to come. In your state of enchantment you’d managed to suppress your libido, but now it’s coming back with a vengeance. You stop on the sandstone just before the glass barrier leading into the pool, and wait. You hear Kanaya coming up behind you, hear her push her front legs up, feel them come down on top of you as she mounts you and inches forward, bringing her closer to your entrances. She slings her arm under you, keeping you in place as her bulge unsheathes itself from its prison. You feel the air around your crotch move and blow as her length thrashes about, searching for a hole to plant itself into. It’s different from a human dick in that it’s only semi-solid, extremely flexible, shaped more conically, is self-lubricating and it doesn’t take its pleasure from thrusts, but from squirming, thrashing around inside you. Basically, trolls of both genders have a tentacle in their pants and you, for one, have no problem with that. Kanaya moves forward, rests her head on your left shoulder and lets her soft, full breasts fall into the small of your back. Her bulge finds its final destination in the form of your asshole, and she slides it into you. She always prefers your rear entrance because it feels more like a troll’s nook to her: it provides her with more pleasure.  
Back on the meteor, sex with Kanaya had been frustrating because of just this – you’d never had anything more than a finger or pencil back there and weren’t used to the sensations - but over time she’d helped you build up an association between her frond’s writhing and the pleasure that the rubbing of your clit provided you in a cunningly simple way: by performing both acts at the same time. Now you automatically correlate the squirming in your anus with pure pleasure – it feels to you as though your forbidden walls are every bit as sensitive as your bulb. Neuroplasticity indeed – it fires all the sane synapses in your brain. Kanaya knows this, knows she succeeded, and that was one of the main reasons she enthusiastically went through with her amputation – she no longer needed her fingers to please you.  
As she eases herself in past your inner sphincter she growls, all animalistic as she gives in to her instincts. She gets as deep as she can go, her hips rubbing against yours, her fluids leaking from her sheath and trailing down your crack towards your primary access duct, and starts letting her bulge do all the work. The tip of her shaft wiggles around inside you, brushing against all the spots that set you off – the rocket has passed Mach One. Kanaya moans and trills her delight, loud enough that the neighbours’ll most likely soon peek out their windows, wondering what all the fuss is about. She’s loud when she’s taking pleasure, always letting you know how good she feels, how good you make her feel, and it’s one of the things you love about her. You love extracting those noises from her just like you love extracting them from John. Now you’re moaning with her, having to resist the strong urge to push back against her – she doesn’t need it, and neither do you. This is the closest you’ll probably ever get to knowing what it’s like to have a nook, and from what you feel as Kanaya oscillates inside you, you’re missing out on quite a god damn lot. She warbles and the crescendo inside of you builds up, threatening to overflow. You feel Kanaya’s close too, her stem’s twisting and turning accelerating, building up and that’s it for you, you’ve gone over the edge. You scream as your walls tighten around her, trying to milk her seed , and it works – you hear her scream in return, feel her go stiff inside you. As you ride the wave of ecstasy from a morning’s worth of denial after denial she fills you up with her jade-coloured sludge, using your rectum like she would a troll’s nook and gene-bladder. As you come down and jettison the solid rocket boosters she’s still coming, still filling you with herself – she must’ve been starved of release for at least a week to produce this much. The stream starts petering and you feel so full, so desperately, pleasantly full – trolls usually release their sludge into a bucket immediately, but you don’t – you let it stew inside you; sometimes you go out for walks with it. The sloshing it makes as you move, the weight of it as you don’t, and the feel of its pressure, stretching your walls – it feels so wonderful as you ride the afterglow of release purely on the liquid engines. You couldn’t always hold it all in – in the early days most of her donations would come gushing out again – but as Kanaya finally comes down and her bulge retracts out of you and back behind its sheath you spill not one single drop. You’d practiced holding in water back on the meteor, and that training has paid off tremendously. Kanaya moves her arm down your torso and feels your belly; then she compresses it it, and you hear her fluid shifting around inside you, pushing further upwards into your large intestine as you strain to hold it in, strain to retain her gift. She clasps you harder, and you know this is her petty revenge for your victory at the door – she wants to see you spill some of her, see you stain the sandstone because of your weakness. You don’t give in, even to the point of pain, and when you finally whimper your discomfort she immediately releases you – her intent is never to hurt, but to play. Her mass slides off you – you already miss the weight of her bosom - and she licks along the crack of your ass; the reactant shudder that runs through you finally causes you to release a drop. You clamp down, cutting off the torrent, but that’s all she needed to see – she licks it from your hole and tastes herself, her genetic material mixed with the flavour of your inner sanctum. You turn towards her and find her beaming, eyes closed in rhapsody – she peeks one open and makes sure you’re watching before closing it once again – and then she swallows her own seed. She raises her eyebrows, and god damn your imagination, now you want to release your enema into a bowl and drink it up with her; but you don’t want to release it from your clutches either... she notices the conflict on your face and suddenly she looks a whole lot like Terezi, flashing all those teeth at you. Kanaya Maryam – paradox space’s biggest tease since 2011.

You decide to worry about what to do with your load later and head back inside. You know that you can hold it in, but with Kanaya’s penchant for punishment there’s no guarantee she won’t try and make you spill it again. John and Vriska are leaning against each other, pretending to have been watching TV, but you know they were playing with each other as they watched you and Kanaya go at it, like they always do. They didn’t even bother to turn the damn box on – so much for plausible deniability. You lie down on top of John’s feet and relish in the motion the fluid inside you makes in response to it. The fullness in your rectum suddenly contrasts with the emptiness in your stomach – after being screwed so thoroughly by Miss Maryam you find yourself to be, to put it mildly, starving.  
“Rose, can you get off my feet?” John asks you.  
Well you could, but then he’d just wander off somewhere and not feed you.  
“Rose. Get off.”  
You stay put.  
“Remove your body from my bipedal stability enhancers or it’s spam for breakfast all next week.”  
That gets you moving – you quickly bound off and lie down adjacent to his legs instead. You’ll have to find another way to get his attention.  
“See, I’m telling you,” Vriska says to John, “being tough with your pet gets results.”  
“I guess...” he trails off.  
“You just saw it in action!”  
“Yeah, but only because I had collateral.”  
You start nibbling at John’s pants, and across the way you see Kanaya lie down next to Vriska and start doing the same to her – evidently you’re both just as starved. Your masters look down at you and Kanaya at the same time.  
“Food,” they both say in unison. You break off, removing your mouth from John’s slacks and Kanaya does the same for Vriska – you move out of the way and clear the thoroughfare, letting them both get up and head for the kitchen. Vriska roots through her bag and John opens the pantry door, looking for something that isn’t spam. He throws some biscuits in your direction which you trap between your lips, pull into your mouth and chew, dropping crumbs onto the floor. Kanaya starts licking them up, so you growl a warning at her and she backs off. You swallow and move to consume the crumbs – you taste her spittle of some of them, but you don’t really care all that much; they’d have gotten soggy in your mouth anyway.  
“D’you always let your pet eat from the floor like that?” Vriska asks, still rummaging around.  
“No, just thought that Kanaya might want some too,” John replies.  
Kanaya narrows her eyes at you, annoyed that you deprived her of those crumbs, and you narrow them back, annoyed at her for being so annoyed. Okay, you don’t really have an excuse, it was just an automatic reaction.  
“Don’t give anything to Kanaya,” Vriska says. Kanaya’s head darts to her master, her irritation at you forgotten and replaced by alarm.  
“What?” John asks, removing his head from the pantry.  
“No food for Kanaya,” she repeats slowly.  
“Yeah, I heard,” he steps out of the pantry, “but why?”  
“She begged,” she says coldly. “I don’t like my pets to beg.”  
“Well it didn’t look like she was gonna get food from anywhere else.”  
“She knows her designated meal times,” Vriska pulls out a whip from her handbag, moving the [end, string?] through her left hand and holding the handle with her right, “and if she decided to screw your pooch and tire herself out that’s her problem, not mine.” Her eyes are fixed straight at Kanaya’s, and you hear your companion whine.  
“Put that whip away,” John says sternly.  
Vriska breaks eye contact and looks at him. “Why?”  
“What you do with her and the punishments she receives for her actions in your hive is your business, but I for one don’t particularly feel like hearing her scream right now.”  
“So... later, then?”  
“Vriska. My house, my rules. Whip away. You’ll have plenty of time to beat her once you’ve left.”  
Some of Kanaya’s fear dissipates and you lick her cheek. _It’ll be alright._  
She smiles. _It Always Is_  
Vriska throws her arms up in the air, exasperated. “Oh, you’re no fun anymore.”

A knock at the front door – as Vriska puts her instrument of pain back where it came from, John goes to answer it. You don’t remember him ordering any packages, so it’s not that. You’re curious, so you move to follow him, Kanaya’s genetic material still weighing your rear down and giving you bursts of pleasure. As you pass through the doorway into the corridor, John reaches for and opens the front door. A man is standing there wearing a beige coat, a hat like you’d see on top of Sherlock Holmes and hiking pants. He’s holding a small notebook and a pen in his right hand, and he looks provoked.  
“Right! I heard that! Who said that?” he says in an [eric idle] accent.  
“Who said what?” John asks.  
“Oh, don’t play stupid,” he replies, rolling his head.  
“Look, I don’t really have the time to entertain loonies right now, so could you shove off?” John says in his polite, sarcastic voice.  
“Fine – I’ll go. But when I return, I will return with an army! An army of lawyers, and of corporate C.E.O.’s! The time has come, my brothers! The time has come to rise up against copyright infringement! The time has-”  
John slams the door in his face and cuts him off. He turns around and heads back the way he came, and you can still hear the man’s speech wafting through the cracks in the door, unintelligible. John makes eye contact with you, and you raise your eyebrows.  
“Don’t know,” he admits, ambling past you and back into the kitchen.

“Hey Vriska, the soliloquy you ordered arrived,” he says as soon as he sees her. In the meantime Kanaya has taken to pawing at the pantry door.  
“Huh?” she says, confused.  
“Guy at the door – just standing there making a speech to nobody.”  
“Sounds like he’s pretty insane. You gonna -” Vriska’s ears twitch as Kanaya makes a bit too much noise, and her master’s head immediately darts to her. “Kanaya, off!” Vriska snaps, and she complies immediately – you see the terror in her eyes. “Sorry,” Vriska says to John, rotating her head back to face him. “You gonna call someone in to collect him?”  
“No! I want to see how long he can go on for!” he says excitedly.  
“Even if he passes out?”  
“Well, if it comes to that,” he shrugs.  
“John Egbert, you are a cruel man. I like the way you think.”  
They lean in and kiss to the background music of muffled monologue, and you would stay and watch but Kanaya’s poking your leg, demanding your attention.  
You spin to face her and tilt your head. _What?_  
She moves her paw up to her open mouth. _Hungry_  
You roll your eyes and shrug. _So what do you expect me to do about it?_  
She rests her head on the ground and moves both her paws to her backside, spreading her posterior. Then she pushes herself back up with her left arm, motions to her still-open mouth with her right, then she moves the same paw towards you. _Feed Me Your [Enema]_  
You raise one eyebrow. _You sure?_  
She nods. _Yes_  
 Well you’re not totally sure that you interpreted that long string of actions correctly, but you can soon find out. Since you don’t have a bowl to release your load into besides the one you eat out of, she’s going to have to drink it straight from the source. The thought of it electrifies you – you sitting on her face, asshole positioned right above her mouth as you release her own seed back into her; her gulping it down quickly, straining to hold her mouth open and not miss a drop – yeah, you’re definitely going through with this. You move a paw under her shoulder and push, and she flips herself onto her back in response. You position yourself above the target and slowly lower onto her, wanting to be accurate with your placement so that the stream will enter her gullet while not having the rest of your above-average ass blocking her nose, which will be her only airway. The sludge inside you still feels heavy, and you wonder if she can take it all, and if you can shut off the flow if she can’t. You guess you’ll find out. You look up and check the Vriska situation – yep, still busy sucking face – and you are go for faering separation. You loosen your sphincter and let your body do the work – the reaction is immediate. The payload is revealed and jets out of your rear end; you look past your shoulder to get a good look at the action. The jade-green fluid quickly fills up Kanaya’s mouth and she swallows, keeping her mouth open just as you predicted, not wanting to spill anything. It splashes against her tongue, against the roof of her mouth, and the sound it makes increases as her mouth fills, the liquid splattering into itself. In retrospect you probably should have done this outside on the grass where there’d have been no possibility of staining the flooring, but even a Seer of Light isn’t omniscient. Her mouth fills up again and she gulps it down – you trace the protrusion it makes in her throat, moving down and disappearing behind her ribs – and you imagine her doing that with fresh genetic material, material just released right into the back of her throat, and still being released. Troll blowjobs interest you greatly, and you aspire to one day witness one.  
The pressure in your rectum’s died down drastically by now – you’re amazed that she’s drunk as much as she has - but you still feel a considerable amount left inside you, still left to give. You have to start pushing it out now that the pressure’s lower, but despite your best efforts it does begin to slow its rate of escape. Kanaya’s still drinking, still assiduously swallowing everything you can give her, and finally when you can give no more she plants her face right up against your ass and licks, wiping up the last few drops leaking from you.  
She pokes her head out from behind your rump and smiles. _Thank You For The Drink  
_ You smile back. _You’re quite welcome._

Kanaya looks up towards John and Vriska to check whether they’re still snogging, and judging by the look on her face they are not.  
“Kanaya,” Vriska says, voice sounding as venomous as an anaconda, “what – did – I – say.”  
She whimpers and tries to hide her face back behind you, but you’ve started to stand back up – there’s nowhere for her to hide.  
“I said no food. Didn’t I say that, John?”  
John rubs the back of his neck. “Well technically she took a drink...”  
“That doesn’t matter. It’s the intent.” She snarls at her pet, causing her to flinch backwards. She tries to use you for cover again, but Vriska’s having none of it – she walks over and picks Kanaya up, hands holding her under her shoulders. “You defied me, pet. And when we get home...” Vriska grins, all shark-like and predatory, “oh, when we get back home, you will have hell to pay.”  
Kanaya flails around, pushes her arms up against Vriska, fights to get free, but her master’s grip is too strong and all she succeeds in doing is ruffling her jacket a bit.  
Vriska turns her head to John, suddenly all friendly smiles. “Well we’d better get going. It’s been fun. Come over sometime and bring your pet!”  
“Uh... thanks, I’ll call and arrange something,” he says as they make their way to the door, you in tow.  
“Oh, no need, just come over whenever. You’ll be able to tell if I’m home by the intensity of the screaming.”  
“Heheheh...” John laughs nervously. He peeks over her shoulder to check if the man with the Sherlock Holmes hat is still there, but you can’t hear anything, so you assume he’s run off somewhere else.  
Vriska stops at the front door and turns. “No seriously though, call me and check if I’m home first.”  
“Of course. You two, uh,” he pauses, tripping on his words, “you two have fun now!”  
“I know I will. This little one... not so much.” She turns her head and looks at her pet. “She’s been a very, very bad girl.” Kanaya whimpers in her arms, but Vriska ignores her and turns back to your master, opening the door with her other hand. “See you, John!”  
“Bye!” he calls out, waving at them as Vriska turns around. As she swivels you use the last few seconds before Kanaya won’t be able to see you to acquire eye contact – ignoring the intense look of dread on her face - and wink at her.  
 _Until next time._

Orbit achieved.

John closes the door behind them and abruptly switches tacts, now all stern and serious.  
“Rose, did you do that just to get Kanaya in trouble?”  
You shake your head. No, you didn’t do it just because of that. It was only part of the reason.  
“Did you do it partially to get her in trouble?”  
Busted. You nod.  
“Bad pet. Very, very, very bad.”  
You whimper and lower your head, staring at the floor just beneath your master’s feet.   
“Look at me,” he says firmly, and you force yourself to raise your head back up and lock eyes with him.  
“You know what you did was wrong.”  
You nod.  
“You know what Kanaya’s going to go through now?”  
Another nod.  
“Now I can’t claim to have the same skillset Vriska does, but a similar punishment would be befitting for you, would it not?”  
You hesitate.  
“Would it not?” he says, more forcefully this time.  
You nod slowly.  
“Good. Stay still, now.” He reaches down and picks you up just like Vriska picked up Kanaya. He throws you over his shoulder, which sends a wave of air out of your mouth. As he walks up the stairs you take deep, long breaths but otherwise remain still in his grip, compliant with his will, both to show our submission to him and because - quite frankly - the thought of what’s to come is making your nethers stimulated all over again. He reaches the top and takes the second door on the right into the master bedroom. He’s being kinder than usual, then – a bed is a much more comfortable place to recover than a timber floor: he must not be _that_ mad at you, then. He sits off the side of the queen-sized mattress and flops you onto his lap, butt presented for his dominant hand. You try and look behind and up at him, but he moves his left hand down and prevents that – he’s going for the dread of not knowing when the blows’ll be coming instead of the immediate, visceral fear of seeing his hand hurtling towards your bare ass. His free hand touches you, kneading your rump, getting to know his target. Was it George Bush who said the famous phrase "Victorious warriors win first and then go to war, while defeated warriors go to war first and then seek to win"? That would be suitably ironic, but you’re pretty sure you’re remembering that wrong.  
John snaps you back to when he speaks and pulls his hand away: “You’ve been a bad pet. And bad pets need to be punished.” You feel the wind against your bum milliseconds before his hand impacts like a hurricane: widespread and extremely damaging – he hit you across your right cheek. You hiss in pain, but it’s nothing you can’t deal with – yet. Smack. Another one on your right, and the nerves start to flare up, making a small cry escape you, both of pain and pleasure. He hits with two rapid-fire blows, this time on your left, softening you up for later; then he follows up with another hard-hitter on your right. You screw your eyes shut; the pain is immediate, and you shriek it to anyone who’ll hear, but the only one there is John - and he’s not listening. He’s playing you like a drum, making music out of your agony, and you swear you hear him humming lightly to himself. Bang – the first big blow on your left comes down, and despite its force it’s a welcome reprieve from the sustained torture of your right cheek – you use it to catch your breath, taking in as much O 2 as possible before he comes back down again. With a whack his hand comes down on your right once again, and you lament your nerves for not having yet hit their value overflow point. Your scream feels piercing, but that might just be the adrenaline coursing through your system. Time moves ever so slightly slower when that stuff’s in your bloodstream – it’s designed to help you react faster under attack, but all it’s doing for you is prolonging the agony, the stinging afterglow of his assaults, and amplifying the unfamiliar contrast of the pleasure emanating from your crotch. A series of brutal spanks ravages your left cheek, bringing it up to par with your right – your wails are so loud they’re hurting your ears, but still he keeps going, determined to punish you, to make your rear feel so horrendously raw that it might as well be your own little portable plane of Oblivion – yet at the same time he’s making parts of you feel so _good_ as to be doorways into Aetherius. He smacks you across both cheeks, knuckles right in the middle of your crack, and still your receptors hold out, sending every wonderful, excruciating second straight to your brain. You can’t feel the rest of your body – can’t feel your hair on your ears, can’t feel your legs hanging off John’s lap or your belly against his knees – all you can feel is your pussy, ass and your throat, the latter two both tender from sustained abuse by the hands of John Egbert. You wait for the next blow - wait for the air to move around you, wait for the shot of pure, unadulterated pain to shoot through your nervous system – but it doesn’t come, and you find yourself paradoxically disappointed.  
Instead your master speaks up: “Now have you learnt your lesson?”  
You nod vigorously, your instincts eager to expedite the end despite your reluctance.  
“Are you going to do it again?”  
You shake your head just as urgently.  
“Good. And if you _ever_ do something like that again we won’t be seeing Vriska _or_ Kanaya anymore.”  
A lie, of course – he loves Vriska too much for that – but the connotations aren’t lost on you. He releases your head from his grasp and you hadn’t even noticed how hard he’d been holding you there – pain jerks through your neck as your head and torso drop down as far as your spine lets them. He slings his arms under your chest and waist, lifts you up and dumps you unceremoniously onto the bed. You end up lying on your stomach face-first into the sheets, your arms forming a T and your legs slightly spread out. Your butt is exposed to the air, vulnerable, but you don’t care – any touch at this point, no matter how small, _will_ bring you cutting pain. As the endorphins get flushed from your system the aftermath starts to rear its ugly head, nonstop aching stinging your behind – you must look so desperately red back there. There’s nothing you can do but wait it out and lament the fact that you didn’t get an orgasm out of it.

You lay there stewing for hours (this time you’re certain of the time), letting the harsh redness die down – you’d taken a look at the damage earlier, and you didn’t think it was possible for your skin to be that red, even if you sat out in the tropical sun for a day without any sun protection. Okay maybe that’s an exaggeration, but it was pretty darn red – crimson even. Your throat was dry from screaming, your pussy cried out for attention and your rear just wanted you to take a nap – an impulse you’d acted on. You’d slept, and when you woke up the damage had faded somewhat – the sting was still present, although significantly diminished. You wouldn’t be able to sit for a while, but at least the persistent painful pulsation had dissipated.

You decide to right yourself and go find John – he’s long gone by now, and it’s almost dinner time. You ease yourself carefully off the bed, in no state to attempt a leap, and start searching the house. Happily you hear him almost immediately – his voice wafts from the study to your right. You turn and plod over to the open door, then take a peek inside. He’s sitting at his computer, webcam and microphone set up, and he’s talking to someone on the other end.  
You catch the tail end of a response: “-gap in the political structure over here. The power struggles are a laugh to watch.” You place the voice as Aradia’s – she went back to Alternia after the game and became an archaeologist, exploring her passion for all things deceased. It’s a somewhat rare field in the new universe, but she enjoys it, so you wouldn’t complain even if you could.  
“Are there any other tyrian-bloods out there to fill the spot?” your master inquires.  
Aradia replies as you edge closer to John’s seat; “Nope! That’s what makes it so amusing! You should see the footage – everyone who had even a small connection to Feferi is vying for a spot – even the janitors!”  
“The old monarch’s cleaner, rising to power on a wave of hysteria and confusion?”  
She laughs. “Probably not. Personally I’m hoping that once this all settles down the winner’ll be a warm-blood, but knowing our species’ penchant for tradition they’ll probably dye the victor’s blood fuchsia and call them the rightful heiress.”  
You sit down next to your master and poke him with a paw, and he glances down at you. He doesn’t look like he’s holding a grudge – then again he never does. “You hear about Feferi?” he asks you.  
You shake your head.  
“Is Rose there?” Aradia asks. “Can you put her in-shot?”  
“Yeah, gimme a sec.” He beckons you up onto his lap and you oblige, pushing yourself up onto him, and then re-position yourself to look at his monitor. Aradia’s there wearing her god tier attire – she had it custom-made for her after the game – and you smile at her.  
“Hi Rose! Guess who’s joined your ranks?”  
Someone else decided to take your path? You thought it would’ve petered off after Nepeta decided to go through with it. You tilt your head questioningly.  
“Come on, up!” she says, and you catch a glimpse of grey paws appearing on the desk before the head of Feferi Peixes raises up. She rests her head between her paws and smiles at you both.  
Aradia reaches behind her pet’s head and scratches behind her horns. They both smile, and Feferi wriggles herself upwards and licks her master’s face. She laughs under the assault and half-heartedly tries to push her pet off, but you, John and Feferi all know she wants her to keep going.  
“Well I’ll leave you two to it then,” John shrugs.  
“O-okay!” Aradia replies between laughs and licks. “Bye guys!”  
Feferi turns briefly and licks towards her webcam before getting back to her onslaught.  
John switches the video chat off, reaches down and strokes your hair. “You hungry?”  
You nod; between Vriska and Kanaya’s visit and your punishment you’d completely missed lunch, and it was almost time for dinner.  
“Still only got spam, by the way.”  
Well never mind, then.

You hop off your master’s lap, he stands up out of the chair and you descend the staircase together, you in the lead. You walk past the kitchen and head outside into the courtyard, while John breaks off to make himself something to eat. Today’s been a busy day, and you simply haven’t had the time to relieve yourself. You don’t feel an urgent need to go, but experience has taught you it’s much better to get it out of the way when you have the time as opposed to holding it in and risking soiling the floors (which has happened, much to the regret of your rump – he doesn’t hold back when you do something like that).

The question of how you would go to the toilet was one that neither of you had considered prior to your operation, so in the days immediately following it John had to improvise. You weren’t just going to use the toilet – you flat-out refused when your master brought up the option – so another way had to be found. Initially you simply did your business as an animal would, leaving your droppings out in the yard, and while this worked for the most part problems began to arise regarding cleaning. You obviously weren’t able to wipe your excrement from yourself, meaning that either you walked around the house smelling like faeces and potentially leaving flakes everywhere or John had to do it for you each time. Neither of you liked this arrangement, so John re-purposed a high-energy hose to act as a way for you to clean yourself. A hose was pointed upwards at a slight angle and all you had to do when you were finished was step over it, rest your leg on a pressure sensor and let the stream of water scrape your waste off of you.

That is the system that remains in place today. As you approach the area of the yard you’ve designated as your latrine you spy the hose nestled in the far corner, up against the fence. The area stays remarkably clean given what it’s used for; you suspect this is due to a combination of natural decay, the rain and the hose. In any case it doesn’t smell nearly as bad as some of the public toilets you’d encountered in the old world.  
You walk over to the other corner that’s touching the fence – you make a point of always relieving yourself in an area that’s recently been washed out – squat down and prepare your anus. The first sausage of solid waste pokes out from behind your sphincter and you give it a push; your asshole re-seals and with a thud the turd hits the grass. You start your second push to get the final major waste pocket out of your rectum and at the same time the seals on your bladder give in, releasing a stream of piss you didn’t even realise needed to come out. You re-adjust so the stream isn’t splashing back up at you and continue your exertions; the second turd releases its hold on your read entrance and lands atop the first with a squelch. As you push out the remnants still left inside you the stream of urine tapers off, slowing down to a series of drops before cutting off entirely. You look behind you and inspect the pile you’ve created: it’s not that sizeable, but you didn’t really expect anything _too_ huge.  
Having confirmed that there isn’t enough to mess with the standard un-assisted cleaning process you turn your head back around and make your way to the high-pressure nozzle forty-five degrees left of your droppings. You poke the hose with a paw to make sure it’s secure before positioning your crack over it and hitting the pressure pad. The water rushes up into your crevice and dislodges the remaining waste from you, all while pleasantly tickling your asshole. You leave it running for about half a minute before stepping off the pad, cutting off the stream and heading back towards the gateway to the interior.

As usual you’re completely worn out from today’s activities, and considering the absence of any real food you decide to head straight to bed. You pass John, who’s had to serve himself spam as well. He looks like he’s going to throw up.  
“Okay, I don’t care what the time is, I’m going shopping tonight,” he mumbles.  
You nod and yawn before licking his leg, a goodbye for the day.  
“Night Rose,” he says, ruffling your hair briefly before getting up and putting together a list of things he needs to buy, which you strongly suspect is just a small bit of paper with the word “everything” written in block capitals, underlined twice and with a bunch of exclamation points added to the end.  
You reach your bed and poke at it to find the softest spot before letting gravity win its continuous struggle – you fall down onto the bed, pull your limbs inwards and rest your head on the soft, woollen rim.  
As John makes his way past you, car keys jingling in his grip, he pauses, kneels down and cups the back of your head. He leans down and plants a soft kiss on your forehead, and you smile contentedly.

The door slams behind him as he locks up the house, and as you drift into unconsciousness you can’t help but be thankful for just how lucky you are.


End file.
